Blind Trust
by Fiery Disposition
Summary: *New:Ch. 2* In the years following Voldemort's defeat, The Order of the Phoenix is helping to restore order to the Wizarding World. But recently, strange coincidences have been noticed and a traitor is suspected within the Order. Complete summary inside.
1. Cleansweeps, Howlers, Malfoys, Erklings

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Title: Blind Trust

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Authors: Fiery Disposition and Crazy Iris

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Disclaimer: We do not own Harry Potter and Co. (although we wish we did). No money is being made (unfortunately) so don't sue (that would just be stupid).

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Rating: R just in case

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Summary: In the years following Voldemort's defeat, The Order of the Phoenix is helping to restore order to the Wizarding World. But recently, strange coincidences have been noticed and a traitor is suspected within the Order. Yet the closer the truth gets to being revealed, the deeper unsuspecting victims get pulled into the web of half truths and whole lies. Old relationships are put to the test, while unlikely ones are formed as the question, "Who can be trusted?" gets closer to having an answer.

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Pairings: Hermione/Pansy, Remus/Sirius are the established pairs. At least one other will surface though.

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Warning: Contains _slash_. If you don't like it, don't read it. No one is forcing you, so we don't want to hear your bitching. Flame someone who cares.

Chapter 1: Cleansweeps, Howlers, Malfoys, and Erklings

"Professor Potter?"

Harry turned around to face the little girl. She was one of the few students left who did not have their broomstick in their hand. Her frustration was evident as she cast a glare at the old Cleansweep, before turning her big brown eyes on him, a pleading look in them. Harry needed new brooms. He could hardly teach another year of students on these old relics. But instead of scowling with her at the broom, Harry just smiled, walked over, and crouched down in front of his student. Now that he was eye level with her, Harry asked, "So what seems to be the problem, Ms. Meers?"

Cassandra Meers gave her professor a frustrated smile. All of the students, well at least the ones in Ravenclaw, liked Professor Potter. He was really nice and didn't talk to them like they were little kids, or worse, like they were covered in slime and had a nasty disease. She suppressed a shudder as she remembered her first Potions class with Professor Snape just before lunch. Instead she said, "It's my broom, Professor. It won't move when I say, 'up'."

Harry cast a glance at her broom. "Show me what you do, " he told her.

With a sigh, Cassandra opened her tiny hand, held it over her broom, and yelled, "UP!" Not even a twig twitched. 

Harry frowned slightly. True, part of it was her form- the way she held her hand, her body language, and even the tone of her voice- but a good portion of it was the broom. _I really need to talk to Dumbledore about those new brooms_, he thought.

Yet, Harry smiled and said, "Well, let's see if we can't get it to listen. Here, give me your hand." When she had placed her hand in his, he turned her palm face down. "Now part of the problem is that your hand isn't open far enough. If the broom would have come up earlier, it would have smacked your fingers rather hard and that wouldn't feel good now, would it?" With a smile, she shook her head no.

Opening her palm wide, fingers completely stretched out, Harry continued, "Now hold your hand like this over the handle of the broom." Cassandra nodded and did as she was told. "Good, " Harry said with a smile, "This time when you say, 'up', I want you to say it as a command. Scold it. Say 'up' as if that what it's expected to do and if it doesn't listen to you, " Harry wagged his finger at the broom, "then it will be in big trouble." He raised an eyebrow at her as he smiled. "Think you can do that?"

Giggling, Cassandra nodded. Harry stood up and took a couple steps back to watch her movements. Palm face down, fingers stretched as straight as they would go, Cassandra glared down at her broom. "Up!" she commanded and the broom shot up, right into her hand. Cassandra gapped in astonishment before turning a huge, delighted grin on Harry. 

Harry returned her grin. "Five points to Ravenclaw. That was one of the best commands I've ever heard, Ms. Meers. Great Job."

Harry turned back to the rest of the Ravenclaw first years. He was happy to see that all of them now had their broomsticks in their hands. "Ok, class, that is all for today. Next time, we should be able to start low level hovering, and maybe even some flying. I'll see you then." 

The first years chattered as the students took their brooms to the broom shed. Everyone knew how passionate Professor Potter was about flying, and no one dared mistreat the brooms, even if they were Cleansweeps.

Harry watched as the first years trekked back up to the castle. Hogwarts had seen a slight increase in the number of incoming first years, and so, many of the classes were single house only. Flying and Quidditch class was just one out of a few others that had been changed. 

So far this year, his classes had turned out to be uneventful overall. Then again, he reminded himself, he had only had the Ravenclaws and the Hufflepuffs, and while he didn't expect anything more than the usual rowdiness out of his Gryffindors, he knew that the Slytherin group could prove more troublesome.

Harry walked into the broom shed to give it a quick once over. Everything was neat and orderly, just as he had expected it to be. But as he was locking the door, a movement out of his peripheral vision made him turn his head. Harry's eyes scanned the stands and the bushes around the Quidditch Pitch. Nothing. Shaking his head slightly, Harry turned back to the door and finished locking it. He thought he had seen someone for a moment, and as he walked off the Pitch he still carried with him the feeling of being watched. 

Harry sighed. It was probably just a student trying to spy on him. Even three years after the end of the Second Voldemort War, he still had trouble with fans. He couldn't explain it. It wasn't as if he had killed Voldemort on his own. It had been a team effort.

Well, there was no use in worrying about it now, especially when there were more important things to consider, like Dinner and broomsticks. Maybe he'd talk to Dumbledore at Dinner about the Cleansweeps.

~~~

"Any breaking news, Miss Granger?"

Hermione grinned as she took the latest edition of the Daily Prophet and dropped five Knuts into the hand of the in-office vendor. "None today, Earl. See you tomorrow." She said cheerfully. "Same time as always."

Without another word, she strode off down the hallway toward her office. _That's the last time I leave the window open._ She thought as the sight of her desk piled high with incoming mail greeted her.

She sighed as she dropped her copy of the Daily Prophet onto the chair in front of her desk, and hung her coat over the back of it. It was quite often she found her desk in this state in the morning. Some contained good news while others… she eyed the howlers in the pile disdainfully.

Hermione dropped into the chair behind her desk with another sigh and began picking her way through the mail. Yet, she wasn't a quarter of the way through before a voice caused her to look up.

"_As the meeting came to a close, a hushed silence fell over the crowd at the awaited verdict. One of the members from the board stood up and pronounced that house elves would no longer have the title of servant, and if wizards wished to continue their employment then the elves would have to receive a working wage. A few of the gathered house elves cried where as others shouted triumphantly and joyously at the news. The decision the board has made will only prove to be one more step toward freedom and equality, not only for humans, but for all creatures."_

Pansy Parkinson folded the newspaper back up as she looked at Hermione from her position in the doorway. "Pure poetry, hon." A delighted grin was directed at the bushy haired woman sitting behind the desk. "You finally did it. Years of hard work finally paid off." 

Hermione frowned, "It only took three years for it to happen."

"What matters is that it did happen," Pansy explained as she walked around and sat on the edge of Hermione's desk. 

"I wish everyone felt that way," Hermione complained as she picked up a howler and tore it open. A voice spilled out from the glowing red envelope, raging on about losing a house elf because of her. She tossed it into a special, soundproof, explosion proof bin labeled "Howlers".

Pansy shrugged. "Not everyone is ready for changes."

"I know." Hermione said with a faint scowl as she tossed another one of the howlers into the bin. If there was one thing that bothered Hermione, it was unfair or unequal rights and discrimination of any sort. She supposed it came from being taunted for being Muggle born while at Hogwarts. It had taken her years of work at the Daily Prophet, working as a reporter, and fighting against the Ministry's system until the new law, that house elves were no longer titled servants, had finally been proclaimed. But despite the endless nights of work and the weekend less job, she had found one good thing in her time spent at the Daily Prophet and the S.P.E.W Organization- Pansy. 

"Hey," Pansy said lifting Hermione's chin with one finger. "A change this big just takes time to get use to." She brushed a chaste kiss across Hermione's lips before sliding off the edge of the desk and walking toward the door. "I better get to work. I have a few articles I need to finish before lunch." She paused in the doorway and glanced back at her lover. "Which reminds me, lunch with Draco at noon."

Hermione scowled.

"You promised." Pansy frowned. "Please, Hermione? I promise he'll be on his best behavior." No matter how hard Hermione had tried and continued to try, her lover could never get along with the cocky Malfoy heir. 

"Oh, now that's saying something, " Hermione quipped, but Pansy just sighed.

"I had to sit through a whole Christmas Eve with the entire clan of Weasley's. The least you can do is sit through an hour of lunch with Draco and I."

Hermione nodded her head, sullenly. She hated it when Pansy used a guilt trip on her, and the Weasley dinner never failed to work. "Alright, but if he says one derogatory comment, I leave."

Pansy smiled. "Thank you."

~~~

Draco Malfoy scowled as he made his way through the crowd toward the restaurant. As much as he was looking forward to seeing Pansy, he knew that she would bring Ms. Hermione Granger, Know-It-All Extrordinaire, Champion of the House Elf with her. 

As he reached the door to O'Riley's, Draco paused. Closing his eyes, he mentally prepared himself, then squaring his shoulders, he opened the door and walked in. 

Immediately, he caught sight of Pansy. She looked lovely as always. Her clothing exhibited taste that could only be developed by years of upper class training. Some time during the war, she had finally grown into her features, and while her nose kept her from being drop dead gorgeous, she wasn't exactly ugly either. She stood as he approached her table, a pleased smile on her lips. They embraced, kissing each other on the cheek, a habit which was as much inbred in her as it was in him. Pulling back, Pansy said, "Well, hello, handsome."

Draco smiled at her usual greeting, and replied, "Hello, gorgeous." As they sat down on opposite side of the table, Draco raised an eyebrow. "So where is the lovely Ms. Granger?"

Pansy glared at him, "Oh stop it, Draco. Don't think I missed the sarcasm." She sighed before giving him a pleading look. "Please, can't you be nice." At Draco's snort, she amended, "Ok, be civil. At least be civil to her. I know you don't like her, I know the two of you don't get along at all, but she's my girlfriend. I would appreciate it if my girlfriend and my best friend would get along, at least for my sake." Then a thought occurred to her, and she looked at him with a twinkle in her blue eyes. "Harry and I get along famously, and Weasley and I came to a truce over Christmas."

Draco glared at her before sighing and muttered, "You can take the girl out of Slytherin, but you can't take Slytherin out of the girl." He gave her a small smile, and reaching across to take her hand, said, "All right, Pansy. I know how much this means to you. I'll try to be civil, but," he said, giving her a warning look, "That's all I can promise."

Pansy squeezed his hand in thanks, before looking at her wrist watch. "She should be here any moment now. She just had a few things to finish up before she could leave the office."

Draco nodded as their waitress came up and got their drink order, Pansy ordering for Hermione. Just as he was about to ask Pansy a question, Hermione showed up, sliding into the booth beside Pansy. 

"Sorry, I'm late," she said, placing a kiss on Pansy's cheek. Turning back around, she saw Draco and gave him a cool look before finally nodding. "Mr. Malfoy."

Draco returned her look and her nod, and said, "Ms. Granger."

Hermione turned back to Pansy again, and explained, "I was still throwing away howlers. After you left, I received five more. I swear the numbers get larger every day."

Draco leaned back against the cushion as he smirked. "Did you get the one I sent?"

Hermione glared at him from across the table. "Yes, I put it in the bin marked 'Obnoxious Gits'." 

Pansy just rolled her eyes. Honestly, the two of them were more stubborn than a whole team of mules. Neither Draco nor Hermione would tell her the source of this long standing grudge. At first she had chalked it up to the whole "you're a filthy mudblood" thing at school, but with Draco now openly working as an Auror, that wasn't likely to be it. Besides both had denied any animosity because of that. 

Sighing, Pansy looked at Draco and asked, "So what's new at the Agency?" She wanted desperately to change the subject before Hermione and Draco caused an insult war in the middle of the restaurant.

Draco turned back to Pansy and shrugged, "Nothing much, honestly. Just the usual, rounding up remaining dark arts artifacts, doing paper work, scaring the children." 

Pansy chuckled at his answer. "Sometimes I think that is the only reason you stick with that job. Merlin knows it's not for the money." Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy had died surprisingly early in the Second Voldemort War. Apparently, the Dark Lord was non too pleased with their 'secret' plot to overthrow his authority and rule instead. So, at the age of seventeen, Draco became master of Malfoy Manor and sole owner of a very full vault in Gringotts.

Draco grinned at her. "Yes, their gasps of fear are very amusing." He shook his head. "Whose brilliant idea was it, exactly, for the Aurors to tell war stories to children?"

Hermione, who had been resolutely staring at her drink while running her fingers around the outside of the glass, looked up sharply at Draco's question. "It was mine, Mr. Malfoy. No matter what you or anyone else thinks, it is a good idea. We form our conceptions of right and wrong at an early age. What better way to teach the children about prejudices than with war stories? Besides, the Aurors are only _supposed_, " Here, she gave him a piercing look, "To tell them mild ones. We don't want to scare them out of their minds, just caution them."

The air was thick with tension as Pansy and Hermione waited for Draco's reply. He looked at her for a moment, his face betraying no emotion as his eyes roamed over her face. Then, after glancing at Pansy, he said, "I happen to agree with you for once, Ms. Granger. No sarcasm was meant in my comment." He smirked at her. "Besides, we saw what happened to me."

Pansy didn't realize she had been holding her breath, until she gave a quiet sigh of relief at Draco's reply. Relaxing, she leaned back against the cushion. Well, maybe today would go so badly after all.

~~~

Ron stepped out from beneath the mantle of the unusually tall fireplace into Harry's private quarters at Hogwarts. He dusted the ash and soot from his clothes as he glanced around the dirty flat_. It looks as though a wild boar has run through here on a rampage,_ he thought as he jumped over a pile of dirty clothes sitting in the middle of the floor. It was a marvel to Ron how Harry actually lived in this pigsty.

He walked out of the entrance to the room and gave a casual wave to the portrait as he knew Harry should be on his way out of the Great Hall seeing as lunch had just ended. His long stride took him down the familiar halls of the school. He darted around children as they filtered out from the Great Hall. Ron slipped in through the door. The Great Hall was nearly empty as the children finished their lunches and went off to their next classes.

Ron spotted Harry speaking to Dumbledore as the two strode down the center aisle toward him.

"Albus, it's not that I feel the Cleansweeps are dangerous, but-"

Ron shook his head. Of course it would be just like Harry to want to have new brooms to teach his students. Ron knew that Harry loved flying and brooms with a passion, although it had shocked him to learn that Harry had taken the position as Flying Instructor rather than become a professional Quidditch player.

Dumbledore raised a hand and silenced Harry. "I understand, Harry. I, too, feel the children would learn much better on newer brooms.

Harry smiled gratefully. "Thank you, Headmaster."

"I believe I know a few companies that would be happy to provide the children with new brooms." Dumbledore glanced at Ron. "Now, I will leave you with your visitor. I assume you have much to catch up on?" 

"Yes. Thank you again, Albus." 

Dumbledore gave a nod in greeting to Ron before disappearing out of the Great Hall's doors. As Harry approached, he smirked. "Finally found someone with the same temper?" He asked and motioned to the purplish bruise that had formed on Ron's cheek near his right eye.

Ron rubbed the bruise gently. "Troll." 

"Mountain?" Harry winced remembering the troll Hermione, Ron, and himself had faced in their first year at Hogwarts.

"Nah, one of the little ones got out of control." Ron answered as he rubbed the back of his neck. "Apparently it was walking around the nearest village taking its club to garbage cans." 

Harry quirked an eyebrow as he gave Ron an amused expression. "One of the little ones?"

"Hey, they're nasty, mean tempered buggers when things don't go their way. They give a whole new meaning to terrible twos." Ron fingered the bruise again. "Nearly took my head off too. Luckily, I dodged out of the way."

"Clearly not soon enough." Harry joked. 

"I've had worse." Ron shrugged nonchalantly. "And _seen_ worse." It was true, in his five years of working at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, Ron had seen more death and gore then during the entirety of the war. Even though they lost a lot of wizards and muggles to Voldemort and the Death Eaters, it was for the most part clean. Avada Kedavra didn't exactly spray the surrounding area in blood. Besides, Ron was the strategian, not the leader of the troops, so he never saw a lot of fighting until the end. 

Ron worked as one of the animal hunters at the Department, but unlike a muggle hunter, Ron was only sent out to detain animals or creatures that have caused damage to property. The animals then, after their capture, were sent to holding cells or non-populated regions until they were tagged, so that the department knew where they were at all times, and allowed to be set back in the wild. 

"Anyone new or are you still with... Elanor... Elena... What was it again?" Harry asked wanting to change the subject as they walked down the halls back toward Harry's quarters.

"Elizabeth." Ron gave Harry an odd look. "And that ended months ago." He narrowed his eyes in thought. "Besides I thought I told you about Darlene?"

"Oh that's right." Harry ran his fingers through his hair. It was hard to keep track of Ron's love life. The red-head changed girlfriends more times than the wealthy bachelor Draco Malfoy. It was either the fiery tempered man's job that drove them away or his lack of commitment. Harry would have to ask him one day about that. "Well then, how are things with Darlene?"

Ron sighed. "Over." He scowled. "Apparently she couldn't handle me being gone all the time and found herself someone else." 

"I'm sorry?" Harry offered before saying the password to his quarters.

Ron shrugged as he followed Harry into the portrait, his expression changing from sour to a more calm look. "It would have ended sooner or later. Better sooner than later, I say." He changed the subject. "And what about you? Anyone new?"

"No." Harry answered swiftly as he cleared room on the couch and motioned for Ron to sit down.

Ron tossed a dirty sock to the side and sat down. "I can see why with this pigsty. It amazes me that Hermione doesn't nag you into cleaning it when she comes to visit." 

"She would," Harry plopped down into the armchair across from Ron. "But I always clean before she comes. Which I would have done if I knew you were stopping by." He hinted at Ron.

"Ah, right." Ron shrugged. "I was in the area and thought I'd stop by for a visit. Going to see Hermione next."

"You were in the area?" Harry raised an eyebrow. "And why is that?"

"There had been reports of an Erkling disturbing a few people in the Hogsmeade area. Someone alerted us and they sent me, claiming that I would know the area better than any of the other team members." Ron snorted. " Bloody lazy lot, if you ask me."

"That's odd, I haven't heard anything of that sort." Harry said confused. "Dumbledore would have told me if there was attacks in the Hogsmeade area. Especially considering what an Erkling likes to eat."

"I guess the Ministry is keeping it under wraps, not wanting to scare the public." Ron frowned. 

Harry shook his head. "But I thought they were only located in Germany?"

"Apparently a couple got over the border." Ron leaned back in the chair. "I tell you the Britain Minister almost had an apoplectic fit when he found out. We all thought Germany had strict control of the creatures."


	2. Fridays

**Authors' Note: **Much love, thanks, and insanity go out to Jade Maxwell for her help with betaing this chapter.

**Chapter 2**: Fridays

            It was a Friday. Draco Malfoy _hated_ Fridays above all other days of the week, even Mondays. Friday was the day when Draco was supposed to go to Hogwarts to tell stories and answer questions about the Second Voldemort War. It was not that he minded the job. Draco actually liked going to talk to the children. _I always wanted a large family_, he thought, remembering how lonely it was growing up without siblings in the Manor. Talking to the students was one of the highlights of his job. 

No, what made Draco hate coming, were the memories he was forced to endure. Draco would ever admit it to anyone else, hell he even had a hard time admitting it to himself, but it _hurt. It hurt to see that familiar stone castle, with its turbulent lake, wide green lawns, and wondrous Quidditch Pitch. There were too many memories he would love to forget, and most of the time he could, pushing remembered scenes and conversations to the far recesses of his mind. Yet, no matter how deep he pushed them, no matter how hard he denied their existence, they always resurfaced at the sight of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. _

            _"You'll be next Mudbloods!" a second year Draco yelled. The sight of the words written on the wall beside that damned cat thrilled him. Yes, now all of his father's dreams could be realized. There would finally be no more muggle-borns in Hogwarts. Maybe he could somehow find out who the Heir was, maybe he could help them. Maybe his father would be proud…_

Draco cursed as that particular year resurfaced in his memory. He had meant it then. Every single hated filled word. Yes, he would have helped Tom Riddle or Ginny Weasley, really, at that time, just the same person, kill his fellow housemates, and now, in the solitude of his private carriage, he felt _ashamed_. Only twelve years old and he had wanted to kill, to torture, to _purify- his father's lovely euphemism, as if it was an excuse for murder. _

            _Draco watched as Harry Potter appeared in front of the judges with the cup in one hand and the body of Cedric Diggory in the other. He could not explain how, but in that moment, Draco knew that the Dark Lord had returned. It worried him that the thought didn't bring joy, excitement, or pride like he had thought it would.  Draco felt an entirely different flurry of emotions at his hunch: anxiety, doubt, fear. Yes, sitting in the stands of the Quidditch Pitch watching Harry Potter being carried off by Professor Moody, and Diggory's body being levitated away on a stretcher, Draco was afraid. Even after hearing all of the glorious stories his father told him about the revolution against the Mudbloods, Draco was still very afraid. _

_            Sneers at Potter and whispers of hope from his fellow Slytherins brought Draco out of his musings. Everything would be ok. Father had promised. Besides if the Dark Lord really was back, then the fun was only just beginning. And no matter what happened, he would be safe. He was a Malfoy after all, and a pureblood. He had to be safe. Father had promised._

But, Draco remembered, he hadn't been safe. A pureblood Malfoy or no, when the going got tough, sacrifices were made, and Draco had found out the hard way that the Dark Lord considered him expendable. His father's own stupidity had seen to it that he wasn't around to break his promise to his only son. But Draco had taken his safety into his own hands. He hadn't fought against the Dark Lord because he cared one way or the other about the issues surrounding the war. No, at seventeen, he had offered his help to the Order for one main purpose: to save his own skin.        

_"Traitor." It was said in a pain filled voice laced with fury. A seventh year Draco looked at his lover in astonishment. What? A traitor? But he didn't…his eyes widened in understanding. The boy. Yes, he had known about the plot. Had known everything right down to the time and place. And he had done nothing, nothing at all to stop it, and because he had been jealous. And now the boy was dead._

_            He hung his head, for a brief moment, ashamed of himself. His lover took this action as an admission of guilt. A blow to the chin brought his head up forcefully. Another to the stomach brought him to his knees. Draco didn't even fight back, didn't even try to bring his hands up to somehow protect himself. He deserved it. Besides, he didn't feel the blows anymore. What was physical pain, after all, when his heart and soul were being ripped to shreds?_

_The punches did not last long however. Draco could hear his lover's harsh and ragged breaths. Just the sound of those breaths spoke of so many emotions: disbelief, sadness, anger, and betrayal. The swish of robes and the thud of heavy footfalls told Draco that his lover had left him._

            Leaning his head back on the cushion, Draco closed his eyes. Yes, all of the other memories made him angry or sad or remorseful, but that one… that one made him ache. His lover had not only left him in the corridor that day, but had left him for good. Draco, of course, had been too stubborn and prideful to give chase, then and in the years to come.  

All of the pain he had felt six years ago resurfaced, leaving him drained and exhausted. He sat there wondering what his life would be like if he had swallowed his pride and gone after his love. Merlin knew all his relationships after that hadn't worked. He had tried in relationship after relationship to find what he had been dumb enough to let slip away. Yet, no matter how many lovers he took to his bed, none of them even compared. Regardless, Draco thought, forcing himself to sit up and open his eyes, he was not one to wallow in self-pity, and he had a job to do.

            As his carriage came to a stop before the steps leading up to the huge oak doors, he brushed off his Auror robes. He stepped out, and stood for a moment looking up at the castle. Yes, he had a job to do. Besides, he reminded himself with a smirk, it was a big castle. Certain people could be avoided.

~~~

            Harry Potter was in heaven. The new brooms Dumbledore had ordered were in- Nimbus 2000s- and he had decided the test each and every one. Just as a safety precaution, naturally.  It wouldn't do to have one of his students injured because one of the thirty new Nimbuses was faulty.

            Harry grinned as he took the reduced packages out of his robe pocket and enlarged them. After unwrapping each broom carefully, he stood back to admire them. The design and form of the Nimbus 2000 hadn't changed since his first year. While they were not as magnificent as later models, for first years, some who were just learning to fly and play Quidditch, they were perfect. Picking up the first one, Harry mounted it and pushed off.

            Being on a broom that was far inferior to his own Firebolt did not stop Harry from enjoying himself. The Nimbus was a little slower, a little less sharp in the turns, but it was still a great broom to fly. He grinned as he pictured the looks on his student's faces when they saw his treat for them. The new brooms would definitely make his job easier.

            And to top it all off, it was a Friday. Friday was the day Harry didn't have classes, thus giving him a free day to do what he pleased. _Like flying brooms_, Harry thought with another grin. He remembered from the years that he had attended Hogwarts that Friday was the worst day to try and teach students anything. The excitement of the upcoming weekend never failed to distract even the most studious Ravenclaws. Hermione, of course, would deny it until she was blue in the face, but he had caught even her gazing longingly out the window on occasion. He felt sorry for his co-workers who had class today. 

            A few hours later, Harry had finished testing all of the brooms, and had replaced the Cleansweeps in the broom shed.  Now on his walk back up to his quarters, he thought about what to do with the rest of his day. He had missed lunch, but Dobby would send him up something if he asked.   Therefore, it was a toss up between reading the book he had started a couple days ago (_Most Daring Quidditch Maneuvers of All Time), or working on his research for the Order. He sighed as he gave the password (snitch) to the portrait and walked into his quarters. He really just felt like sitting down with some lunch and the book, but the research for the Order was important and, even if he didn't feel like doing it at the moment, fascinating._

            Getting into the shower, Harry thought about what he was currently working on. With the Voldemort Wars definitely over and done with (not even the soul of Voldemort was left), the Order of the Phoenix was starting to organize documents about battles, POWs, spy information, etc. Harry smiled remembering the look on Hermione's face when she had seen the sad state the Order files were in.

            The problem, however, did not come in organizing the whole lot. Though a very daunting task, considering that the First Voldemort War had lasted eleven years, and the Second Voldemort War had lasted six, it was relatively straight forward. No, the problem came when they found discrepancies in the documents.  

            Harry had, among other problems in his pile, an Order member being in two places at the same time, conspicuous orders being given from an unidentified source, or the mysterious disappearances of both Order members (albeit minor ones) and POWs. During the Wars, such discrepancies would hardly be noticed, or if they were, any excuse was readily accepted as fact. They had had better things to worry about, oh like, I don't know, saving the Wizarding World, than following up on every inconsistency they found. But the aftermath was a perfect time for such activities. 

            Harry scowled as he got out of the shower. He really did need to get some of it done. Yet, as he changed into his favorite pair of jeans and a red t-shirt, he decided to hell with paperwork and research. It was Friday and he was going to do what he damn well pleased. After placing a fire call to Dobby to order some lunch, he flopped down into his favorite chair. Harry sighed a contented smile as he picked up his book and began to read. 

~~~

            Ron dropped gracelessly into the chair, and plopped his feet up on top of his desk as he leaned back.   _It's Friday, he thought with an aloof grin.  If there was one thing Ron loved more then chocolate frogs, it was Fridays.  Fridays meant freedom.  The last day of work before the weekend when he was free to do what he pleased, away from the watchful eye of his boss and more often than not dangerous creatures.  As much as he loved his job, there were only so many times one could be hit by a club, bitten with large fangs, and even stabbed at by some creature in a week._

            He glanced at the clock on the wall.  The small hand was directly on the eight while the longer one lingered at the six.  _Never too early for a chocolate frog,_ he thought as he dropped his feet back to the floor. He pulled open the top drawer of his desk and pulled out the candy.  The thought of chocolate frogs on a Friday only made the day seem to go better that it already was. At least, it did until Ron heard a crash of thunder that rattled the glass windows of the Ministry office in London.  

            Ron scowled as he dropped his sweet back into the top drawer and slammed it shut.  If there was one thing that could ruin his mood, even on a Friday, it was a storm.  He hated- no loathed them. Hate was too nice of a word for storms.  The clash of thunder, the flash of lightening, and the downpour of rain meant no Quidditch game with the rest of his co-workers at the end of the day.  Personally, Ron never minded playing Quidditch in the rain, but his co-workers were a different story.

            He turned away from the window and the rain that had put a sour note on his day, and glanced around the compact office for something to keep himself sane until quitting time.  

            The office was quiet; the only sounds were the rain beating against the glass and his fingers tapping against the arms of his chair.  Yep, the office was completely dead, Ron concluded as he glanced around the room and wondered if there was even work today.  Only a few of his co-workers were actually in the office; the others must have been called off on assignments.

            Leaning his head against the back of the chair, Ron spun around as he stared at the ceiling.  The sound of the gears creaking with each turn echoed off the silent walls until finally one of his annoyed co-workers stalked over and stopped him from spinning.

            "Sorry," Ron muttered meekly as the co-worker walked away.  He turned back to his desk, and tapped his thumbs against the wood.  _What I wouldn't give now for a troll to trample a village_, he thought to himself as he glanced at the clock on the wall.  The large hand seemed to be stuck on the damn eight still.  Maybe it was broken?

            _Or maybe Merlin has just answered my hopes, he thought as the door down at the end of the office was pulled open, and an elderly looking chap walked in._

            "Weasley!"

            Ron perked up in his chair as the wizard called his name.

            "Woman says an Erkling tried to attack her child in the back of their hom-"

            "Yes!"  Ron shouted as he leapt to his feet and earned confused glances from his co-workers.  So, that was not the best way he could have handled the news.  It was not often you heard a person scream a joyous 'yes' when a child had just been attacked by a fierce creature.  Luckily, his fellow workers already understood him well enough to realize what he had meant, and as a result, no one even batted an eyelash.  

All it had taken was a rough blow in the stomach by a Thestral's hind legs that had sent him flying into the tree behind him, to gain the respect, although quite a few worried glances were thrown his way when they discovered that Ron didn't mind in the least. He could now match Harry scar for scar in a Battle Wounds Contest much to his excitement. The incident had landed him in St. Mungo's; though there had really been no reason for him to visit the magical hospital with only a broken rib. It could have been easily healed by any of the Whiz-Meds on duty with the team, but his co-workers at the time had insisted he visit the hospital after he managed to croak out a victorious cry as they picked him up off the ground.

            The boss jabbed him in the arm with a quill.  "Weasley!"  

Ron snapped out of his daze.  "Oh, right."  He shook his head.  "What?" He asked confused and earned a wary glance from the boss. The boss handed him a sheet of parchment. "Go check it out and try not to cause any more damage."

            Ron grabbed his cloak from the rack with a cheerful grin and stalked toward the fireplace.  Perhaps the day was beginning to look up.

~~~

            Pansy walked toward the house with her shoulders set and in a purposeful stride.  She had just walked into the office, after a short lunch date with Hermione, when her boss sent her out on another breaking report, address in hand.  Apparently a child had been attack by an Erkling in the Hogsmeade area and as always the Daily Prophet would have to be the first to get the latest news.  It would be a by the book situation.  A simple, flash the person in charge her special privilege pass, get the interview, and then get home to Hermione.  She grinned as she thought of the other reporters who would have to wait for the eventual press conference to get the news.

            Once wizard and witch reporters use to be like what muggles would call the paparazzi, always popping up on the scene and trampling the evidence before the Aurors or other Ministry officials had the chance to sweep.  That was until one of the first laws had finally been passed a year after Voldemort's defeat.  The law simply stated that no reporters were to be allowed on the scene unless they had a special privilege pass.  Otherwise, those without the credentials would have to wait until the official press conference given by the Minister of Magic or one of the officials on the scene.

            What she did not expect to see was the horde of reporters standing outside the thatched roof cottage with their wizard cameras.  As though the weather was matching her mood, it decided at that moment to force out a deep rumble of thunder which fit her scowl.  This was supposed to be a Friday.  To Pansy, Fridays were supposed to be a piece of cake.  There was not supposed to be any reporters to push through to get to the news.  There was not supposed to be any rain that clouded her vision and soaked her pad of parchment that she had forgotten to water proof.  There was not supposed to be a Colin Creevy!

            "Creevy!"  She cried and tapped her foot incessantly as she caught sight of the tall blond haired young man standing in the crowd of the flash photographers.  "What are you doing here?"  Creevy worked as a free-lance photographer for the Daily Prophet and was often sent out with the reporters to a scene.

            Colin glanced at her. "Got called out with Jace."  He gave a short wave before turning back to the cottage and attempting to get another picture.

            "Jace is here?"  Pansy nearly whined.  Jace Jones was another one of the hot shot reporters for the Daily Prophet.  He was an American reporter, who had come to London just after the war with Voldemort had ended, and he had the audacity to hit on anyone who wore a skirt.  Literally.  No matter if you were a leggy model wearing slacks, he wouldn't look twice at you.  Put the same model in a skirt and he'd be all over you.  Needless to say, Pansy always remembered to wear slacks to work. She didn't think Hermione would take to it too well, and she really didn't feel like writing the article describing her girlfriend's trial for murder.  It was only her luck that the one day she had been forced to wear a skirt by the lack of clean laundry, he happened to be in the vicinity.

            "Parkinson!"  She groaned to herself as she heard Jace call her name.  No, there was definitely not supposed to be a Jace Jones on a Friday.  

            She turned and greeted him with a scowl plastered to her face.  "Jones," she replied dryly.  "Why aren't you in there interviewing someone already?"  _Why would the Daily Prophet even send me out if they already had someone on the scene?_  She thought as she tired to glance over the heads of the other reporters.

            "You know that hot tempered red-head from the creature department?"  Jace asked.  "He's not letting anyone on the scene."

            Pansy bit her lower lip to hold back a groan from escaping her as she caught a glimpse of red hair above the crowd.

            _Apparently the Fates are against me, she thought. She blinked back the rain drops that fell into her eyes and looked again at the mess of red hair that stood out in the crowd.  Yes, at the front of the crowd was Ronald Weasley holding back the reporters from trampling the scene as his team worked behind him.  Merlin forbid that out of all the people in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, it had to be someone who would not cooperate with any reporters._

            Even though Hermione was a reporter, Pansy knew Ron had never liked reporters.  She supposed it was because during the entirety of the war, the Weasley name had appeared in a lot of papers.  _And it wasn't always good coverage_, she thought as she remembered back to a particular mission that had gone wrong while Bill, the oldest Weasley, had been in command of the forces.  The mission had turned out to be a trap that ended in a blood bath between the opposing forces.

            Or perhaps it was resentment.  In all the time during the war, Ron had never been mentioned in the news, despite his own great achievements as Order strategian.  Instead, it was keyed in on Harry or some other Weasley family member.  Not once had Ron been mentioned by name and for that Pansy did feel some sympathy toward the fiery tempered red-head.

            "Any news, Ron?"  Pansy smiled as she finally managed to shove her way through the crowd and walk up to him.  _First rain_, she thought as she glanced toward the sky bitterly, _and now I have to try and deal with him._

_~~~_

_            Perhaps the day was looking up my arse_, Ron thought as the last person he wanted to see greeted him.  The situation had been going smoothly as he held back the reporters while his team swept the scene.  And by sweeping the scene, Ron did not mean that his team was actually using brooms to sweep the ground as he saw Harry do once.  He had chalked up the incident as another strange muggle ritual he would never understand because who in their right mind would use a broom to sweep the floor? 

            The entire day had been beginning to look up until Pansy Parkinson had to rear her pug nose.  He put on the most polite smile he could manage as Pansy stopped directly in front of him with her notepad and quill already out, ready to take any news Ron had to offer.  _Bloody reporters._  Ron often wondered what possessed Hermione to take the occupation in the first place.

            "Sorry, Pansy," Ron said. "You know the rules.  Closed scene."  He smiled smugly.  Perhaps not allowing Pansy onto the scene of the crime would make up for the horrible weather.  "You'll have to wait for the press conference just like everyone else."

            Pansy scowled.  This was not going the way she had expected.  "I have a pass, Weasley."

            "Doesn't matter," he replied. His smug smile was only fueled by the scowl on her face.  _Like I care that she has a little cheap laminated card, he thought.  __She is not getting in here.  "I'm in charge and you'll just have to wait for the press conference."_

            "Men," Pansy muttered under her breath as she turned away from Ron.  

            "What was that?"  Ron inquired behind her.

            "Nothing," Pansy said as she flashed him a smile over her shoulder.  _Hmm... Perhaps-_ She turned fully around so that she faced Ron again.  "You will be joining Hermione and I for dinner tomorrow night, correct?  Harry will be there too, you know."

            "What time is it again?"  Ron asked as Pansy watched him dig through his pockets.  

            _Obviously, looking for that extra chocolate frog he always carries, she thought ruefully before flashing him a quick grin.  "I'll let you know the time if you at least give me the name of the victim?"  _You would think if you knew the person in charge you'd get an exclusive_, she thought bitterly._

            Ron rolled his eyes.  "Like I'd fall for that."  _Really?  How thick does she think I am?  He smirked.  "Besides, I thought Slytherins were supposed to be more sly than that?"_

            "We are," Pansy smiled smugly as she wriggled a chocolate frog in front of Ron's nose.  "Missing something?"  If Pansy knew one thing from her time spent with Weasley, it was that chocolate frogs were his weak point.  Pansy had never understood the strange addiction Weasley had with chocolate frogs.

            "Why you conniving little-" He reached for the chocolate frog, but she held it away from his grasp.  "Give me that!"  He snapped.

            "Give me the name of the victim!"  Pansy snapped back as she continued to keep the chocolate frog from his grasp.  "I know you work for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, obviously an animal attacked someone!  I want a name, Weasley." She narrowed her eyes dangerously at him.  She could care less that the other reporters had begun to cast curious glances as their conversation became more heated.

            "You know the rules, Parkinson," Ron stated calmly very aware that they were being watched by the other reporters and his team members were behind him.  _Bloody women._  It was a wonder to him why he even bothered with them some times.  "You'll find out when everyone else does." He sighed.  _This is getting childish_, he thought as he tried to grab for the chocolate frog and she pulled it from his reach once again.  "This is ridiculous, Parkinson.  Hand over the chocolate frog," he demanded.  

It was easy for the two of them to fall into these little arguments unless Hermione was around.  She supposed it was how Draco and Hermione were with each other, although granted Draco's comments were much better than Ron's.

            "You're impossible, _Weasley_,"   Pansy replied as she tossed the chocolate frog into a puddle in the gutter. "Go fetch."  She turned on her heel and stalked away, leaving Ron to scowl after her, each thinking the same thing: Bitch!


End file.
